The Beginning and Morning After
by kithara1013
Summary: Slash: DMM. Rating MA, if you don't know what slash is, I wouldn't read this. Nothing explicit, just a kiss. My very first Highlander story. COMPLETE.
1. The Beginning

Title: The Beginning and Morning After

Rating: M

Genre: Slash

Show: Highlander

Pairing: Duncan/Methos

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me

Author's notes: This is slash. That means there are two men who love each other. Don't read if you shouldn't be here.

* * *

The Beginning 

The first time a guest spends the night with me, I never sleep well. Perhaps it's because of the new presence in my space. It does not matter if I know the person or not, my sleep is restless and light.

So when the old man showed up at my doorstep, I knew I would be in for another unsettled night. It wasn't his fault, I need to get acclimated to the feeling of fullness in my place.

For some reason this first night was different. As I tossed and turned, memories of our time together seemed to scroll through my mind. I saw our first meeting, God he looked so young and innocent there and yet I knew him. I knew he was Methos, oldest of our kind. Then he was there, watching my back as we searched and fought over Jacob Galati. Images came fast as I tossed quietly (wouldn't want to disturb him) in my bed. Painting a house, fighting, racing through Paris to make sure he was safe, a warm pool of light. Everything slammed to a halt in the face of one particular ghost – Kronos.

That one had been bad. My image of Methos had been shattered. Here was a survivor, a man I thought worthy of the Prize. He had lived and known the best of the mortals, seen everything world had to offer in every time period. To find out he had slaughtered countless innocents for no reason… it was too much. I judged him unworthy.

And in doing so, I judged myself unworthy. That ghost of his past showed me that all of us, even the best and most learned of us make mistakes. And yet, can still retain our humanity without punishing ourselves.

I was not ready to learn that lesson at the time. As I lay in bed, listening to him breathe slowly and softly from the couch, the feelings I always felt in his presence crept up. Exasperation, incredulity, humor, friendship, anger, passion… love?

The last one floored me and I sat up silently in surprise. Love? Me? Love the old man? It was unbelievable. We were so different, like oil and water. We barely knew about each other as evidenced by Kronos. How could I love this irritating, smug, complex gorgeous man?

"Mac?" his soft voice asked. "What's wrong?" Suddenly he was at the foot of my bed. While I struggled with my revelations, he had woken up and come to my aid. Just like always.

"I love you," I said hoarsely.

And he just smiled, a light, friendly smile. "I know."

We looked at each other for a moment. Then he climbed into bed and gently pushed me down onto my side, his body fitting perfectly with mine, an arm over my chest, a leg draped over my legs.

I slept soundly after that night.


	2. The Morning After

Immediately Follows _The Beginning_

* * *

The Morning After 

It's been a long time since I've woken up next to someone who made me feel safe, cherished. I sighed gently and settled against the hard chest. It's certainly been a long time since I've felt safe enough with a man. But I liked the sight of our tangled legs, the possessive arm across my chest and the soft rhythmic breathing on my neck.

More so, it is the completeness that I feel. There is a strong happiness that I've perhaps, finally found who and what I'm looking for. He seems to fill my empty places and suddenly I am terrified. Terrified of him, of myself. I can't do this.

What if this is a reaction to the double quickening from a few weeks ago? What if "this" is not my true feelings but a manifestation of the bond we have been ignoring since then? I know his quickening, I've felt it, embraced it, made it my own and he has done the same with mine. When he walks in the room, I know it. I feel when he takes a quickening.

I feel his extreme emotions.

What if what I feel is not my own?

Suddenly the arm feels alien against my skin. His legs are heavy over mine and his breath is stifling. The moment is shattered and I am lost. I want to escape. And he would probably let me go with a sad smile and a nod.

He stirs against me, feeling my fear yet not waking. He tightens his hold, trying to comfort me even in sleep.

I can not escape.

Do I want him to let me go?

The thought stops me. He would accept me, has accepted me when I could not accept myself. This old man has captivated me and fascinated me since the moment we met.

I was interested in him before Bordeaux, I think. The truth was only shown to me then.

I want to believe. I love him. That has not changed. It will not change.

I won't let it.

I feel when he wakes up. He says nothing but merely lies there for awhile. Then he gets up to go to the bathroom. I get up and get dressed. We spend the day in comfortable silence and quaint domesticity.

"What do you want for lunch?"

"Hand me a beer."

"Where's the remote?"

There is no mention of last night or this morning, yet I feel an impending need to speak of it. I know that it is up to me. He will not make a move, afraid he will scare me.

This closeness is amazing. And frightening.

I know what he needs before he asks. He knows what I will do a split second before I act. It is exhilarating to feel so free. A half dozen times I resist the urge to pull him to me. A half dozen times I see his aborted attempts to reach for me.

Finally after dinner, we are sitting on my couch, shoulder to shoulder He is drinking his beer, I am finishing my wine. And I feel it. The need to act, to make a decision.

I know if I do nothing, he will stay on this couch and my chance will leave with the rising sun.

I set my glass down and face him. He looks at me.

"Methos," I breathe and I feel it. I feel him. I finally open myself up to him, place my soul in his hands and wait. Will he reject me? Will he protect me? Which do I want him to do?

There is a little tug, an unnoticeable something that slowly builds. He is there, filling me, offering his soul to my care and I am struck by how precious a gift I have. This enigmatic survivor is placing himself at risk for me.

I finally see the ageless nature of him.

I don't know who moves first but we are suddenly nose to nose. Our breath mingles and the tension is unbearable but oh so sweet. I don't want to move, I want to prolong this moment but it can not last. We are kissing, a soft meeting of lips that is barely there.

We pull back and he smiles. It is a soft smile, one reserved for his lovers and now for me. We kiss again, a little deeper and a little longer. They begin to meld together as I push him gently back into the couch.

Something shifts and we can't control ourselves. We suddenly necking like randy teenagers, inspired by this newness until, finally, the passion is banked. Our kisses slow and we just lay together, breathing heavily. I shift against him, trying to get more comfortable and he chuckles.

I smile. "I love you," I say, and this time I truly mean it. The first time was a surprise, a started revelation in the dead of night. This time, I understand.

His breath catches slightly. He knows, and I think he truly believes.

There is a pause. I expect nothing. I know how he feels but I also know how hard it is for him to utter the words. That is why I freeze when I hear his soft, smooth voice.

"I love you."

I want to shout with joy. I want to cower in terror. Instead I stand up and lead him to our bed. We are mated now, like wolves. We may stray from each other, but we will always return to open arms and an open heart.


End file.
